


Up & Away

by Blue_My_Mind



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Pseudo Domestic Fluff, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_My_Mind/pseuds/Blue_My_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corbin thinks they will go on a cruise in two days. Del knows they will sit in an interrogation room tomorrow. Seventeen hours and counting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realized that I have fun writing Del :)  
> I planned this out as a three-shot, but might add a bonus chapter, if I manage to scratch one together.

Corbin still thinks they will go on a cruise in two days.

He still firmly believes that they will spent the next three weeks in the Caribbean, enjoying the warm weather and the blue sea, and the sound of the waves lapping at the hull at night. That they’ll eat in fancy restaurants and do some stupid “adventurous activities” and make enough money to pay the trip at least four times in the process.

Corbin still thinks they will be in their cabin on Christmas, drinking one or two bottles of expensive wine, clink glasses on the balcony, just the two of them and the stars.

Del knows better.

That is what hits him hardest, and what hasn’t let him sleep for days now. What do you do when your husband thinks you’re going the have a nice vacation during Christmas while you know you’re both going to be in prison by then?

Nervously running his fingers through his bleached hair, as though he could wipe his nagging thoughts away, Del looks over to his husband, currently sitting with his back to Del in what he calls the ‘official’ part of the flat he owns in Baltimore.

Corbin likes to separate his life into the ‘official’ and the ‘private’ part, and his Baltimore apartment mirrors that lifestyle. Behind the door, it opens into a huge room with a panorama window making up the entire eastern wall. Corbin had a room divider put in, though, chrome-fringed plates of dark, smoked glass that reach all the way to the ceiling and cut off the first quarter of the room. Here, the furniture is stiff. Impersonal, even.

All the rooms behind the divider are an entirely different picture. The furniture is still pricey and stylish, yet much more friendly and cozy. Here, there are paintings and pictures, things they bought together. Signs somebody lives here. This is the place where he relaxes, where cufflinks and tie clips don’t matter. Here, he is the person strangers and his business contacts never may see.

It’s a part of Corbin’s character that Del can, for entirely different reasons, understand. Still, the flat’s two parts differ like night and day, and it gets especially funny when the divider is pushed open, like it is now.

It’s even more funny to see Corbin in the middle of the stiff furniture in sweatpants, a T-Shirt and tousled hair. Funny, and sweet. Only Del gets to see this real man behind the expensive mask.

Funny, too, how he only seems to truly value that privilege now that he is about to lose it. How many other small things has he forgotten to appreciate accordingly over the years? How many things are there that he doesn’t even think of as special anymore?

No matter how many there are, he’s sure he’ll remember them all once they’re separated. Remember, miss, and mourn them.

Shaking his head, Del tries to quell his musings and focus on the here and now. It should be easy, he thinks, considering his husband is sitting only a few steps away, more than close enough for Del to appreciate him once again, as long as he still has the chance to.

It’s afternoon, and the setting sun starts shining in. He can’t see Corbin’s face, of course, but he can see how the soft, reddish glow illuminates him, caressing the bare skin of his upper arms, glancing off his dark curls and dripping soft shadows down the nape of his neck and below his broad shoulders.

He’s absolutely beautiful like this, and the sight makes Del’s heart clench.

He will not see Corbin like this for a very long time. Maybe never again. If Corbin finds out who he really is, if he finds out Del has been seducing him and spying on him for money, he might not forgive him. He might not want to see him again. He might throw him out, actually demand a divorce, and he would be in the right to do so.

By saving Corbin’s live, Del might lose him forever.

The thought hurts so badly it actually seems to take his breath, no matter how often he entertained it so far. And he has tried. He doesn’t want to, but it’s a possibility, and he always has to consider all possibilities. Mercenaries, even information diggers like him, don’t live long if they aren’t prepared.

Mercenaries also don’t live long if they fall for their target, but that is something Del can’t control. He didn’t mean to fall in love with his mark. He didn’t even think he’d come to _like_ Corbin. It never really happened to him before. He never got too attached before, and he‘d never been in love with anyone before. He’d had a few people who he liked, one or two he kind-of loved, but this? This literal so-much-it-hurts feeling? Never.

The thought of losing it is unbearable, but necessary.

All he can do is to try and seem as normal as possible while spending as much time with Corbin as he can. Maybe it’s selfish, but Del can’t stomach the thought of drawing back now. He needs contact, even if it’s just so he’d have a recent memory tomorrow, and during the years in lockup that would follow.

Actually, he needs contact right now. This need is so bad he can’t resist. They have less than seventeen hours left, and they will spend six or seven of them sleeping.

Del pushes off the bar and walks over to the makeshift office, intent on not wasting any more time just staring, touching Corbin’s shoulder lightly as he rounds the couch.

Usually, Del dislikes the way leather furniture constantly seems to stick to his skin, and he covers them with a sheet before sitting, but now, he just lest himself drop, folding his legs under him and placing his chin down on Corbin’s shoulder. Despite his nerves and the guilt, he doesn’t hesitate to hook his arm through Corbin’s, so he can snuggle as close as possible.

Corbin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look up from the papers, but he turns his head slightly until his temple is resting against Del’s hair. As small as the gesture is, it sends another wave of love and panic though him. This might very well be the last time they sit here together.

Unconsciously, he presses closer, as close to the warmth and the familiar smell as he can get. He doesn’t even notice he’s trembling until Corbin pulls back so he can look into Del’s eyes, running his free hand over Del’s bare arm.

“You’re shaking, honey.”

Del’s heart his racing, beating so strongly he is surprised Corbin can’t feel it against his arm, His voice is still steady, though. “Well, I am a little cold. And you look better than any blanket.”

Corbin lets his gaze travel over Del’s body, and the generous amount of skin his loose shirt and knee-length shorts are obviously _not_ covering, and raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Well, it _is_ winter. You should dress appropriately, maybe.”

Falling into his everyday routine easily, Del tips his head back and smiles innocently. “But you like to see me like this.”

“I’d be lying if I said I don’t,” Corbin admits, smiling as he lets his gaze wander over Del’s lean body appreciatively. Then, he leans forward and presses a light kiss to Del’s forehead, his fingers gently closed around the side of his jaw. “Anyway, go find a blanket to wrap yourself in. I need to go over this one more time. And when I’m done, we’ll get to warming you up appropriately.”

He carefully tries to free the arm Del has wrapped himself around, and Del lets him go. “Okay.”

“Good.” Corbin smiles at him and gives him a gentle push. “Go ahead. I don’t want you ill tomorrow.”

Del is already feeling ill, but he nods, smiling anyway when he pushes himself off the couch again to go find a blanket as Corbin has asked him to. He can sit down here again when he has it.

“By the way, honey, how do you feel about ordering in? Sushi? Italian?”

Del nods, trying to keep smiling. They go out for eating sometimes, or Del cooks, something he’s actually good at. But when he has the chance, Corbin will order in from a restaurant that’s pricy and high-quality. And it has to be high quality, just as the things he buys for home-cooking. God, Corbin will go crazy over prison food.

And after being spoiled with all this high-quality food for years, Del will too, probably.

“Thinking about it, we’ll have more than enough fish for the next two weeks, so forget about the sushi. Italian? Or Indian?”

Del feels so sick he doubts he can eat anything without throwing up. “Italian sounds nice,” he manages anyway.

“Good. Same place as usual?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer, but talks on before Del gives one. It’s not necessary to, when they order here, they always order from the same restaurant. “I take my usual, you order whatever you want. Oh, and a bottle of their best red, too.” He looks up smiling genially. And _please_ go cover yourself up beforehand. It makes me cold seeing you like this.”

“Yes, darling.”

Others might not have liked the slightly patronizing way Corbin treats him sometimes, how he actually sounds like he’s giving orders or, at least, not giving Del any real choices. They might have said Corbin treats him like a lap dog, and there is a small grain of truth in that.

He is living a life in a golden cage. Or on a golden leash, to stick with the metaphor. He does have a say, but there is no doubt Corbin is not only dominant in bed; calling the shots on most of things they do, and, yes, occasionally ordering Del about.

On the other hand, Corbin is kind and sweet and would bend over backwards to make sure Del feels well. He excites the power he has over Del, but he never abuses it, and he found himself loving Corbin and all his spleens. He is happy to accept a golden leash if it’s Corbin holding it. _Was happy to. Was. Tomorrow, it’s all over._

Walking back into the flat behind the room divider, Del picks up the phone and types in the number of their favorite Italian restaurant, giving them his order. He doesn’t even have to think about both. Sometimes, it’s useful if your husband is kind-of a creature of habit. Like, when you’re planning to have him arrested through his habitual traffic violation.

Shaking his head like he could shake that thought off, Del calls the restaurant and then settles on watching Corbin staring intently on the papers in his hand, feeling another flash of pain streaking through his chest. Corbin is looking at their initiatives for the cruise, and maps of the two markets where he thinks they’ll meet new sellers.

They would not, though. Somewhat away from the market they’d reach in the second week, Armen’s men were supposed to come down on them, and Del was supposed to stand by while they took and murdered Corbin. The Bianchis would probably be arrested - the IPod Del was expected to hand over held more than enough to convict them, and even more after the first poker game - by the members of the Guardia di Finanza whom Armen had on his payroll. But Corbin and Del Porter were to vanish forever, one by shedding his identity, the other by having his corpse weighted and thrown into the ocean somewhere. After he’d been tortured to give up all the names of the people helping with storage and transport, if Armen didn’t trust Del to truly know all of them.

And that, Del can’t let happen. Corbin would understand that, wouldn’t he? He’d do everything too to save Del from that fate.

But then, that is not the actual problem. Once he finds out Del saved him from being knocked out, getting dragged onto a small fisher boat and being tortured and/or murdered there, Corbin might forgive him for getting them arrested. The rest of it, the fact that Del got into this relationship being nothing but an expensive whore with wiretaps, he might not forgive.

Shuddering again, Del vanishes into the back rooms, finally searching for a blanket. He wants to tell Corbin so badly it hurts. He wants to warn him, to save him from prison, too. But if he does, stubborn as Corbin is, he might just leave Del here and go alone, resulting in his certain death.

 _Please understand, Corbin_ , Del begs silently as he wraps the thick, soft microfiber around himself. _Please don’t hate me tomorrow._

_I don’t know if I could handle it if you hated me._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess since we all read the same boks, I don't have to warn before a sex scene anymore...but still, for the sake of formality: There is sex in this chapter. Nothing triggering, unless you are really turned off by hints of Dom/Sub and bodily pinning your partner.

Del found himself thinking about the weirdest things since he has decided to let them get arrested rather than facing Armen.

Sometimes, those thoughts had been about himself. Like two weeks ago, when he’d gotten a coffee and suddenly wondered how it would be not to be able to do that when he wanted to. Or when he’d looked into the mirror and realized he’d probably not be able to dye his hair from now on. Like last week, when he’d suddenly realized he wouldn’t get any sex for the next years.

He also thought about all the things he’d be doing for the last time, maybe even for the last time ever. Being in a certain flat together, one of those Corbin would probably lose after being convicted. Watching a movie together and having dinner together. Kissing. How should their last kiss be? And their last hug? What would be the last friendly word he’d hear from Corbin before his lies all came crashing down?

One of the questions had been about their last time in bed together, and that one, at least, was being answered.

Del had wondered if it would be hard or gentle, and Corbin had answered that question some nights ago. Del’s still covered in bruises from that one, the most obvious on his wrists and upper arms, the darkest being the bite mark on his hipbone.

And for all the brutality Corbin displays sometimes, he also is deeply worried about crossing the line between rough sex and accidentally hurting Del. So, as long as the bruises the ties and Corbin’s hands and mouth have left on him are still prominent, he’ll not do it again unless Del asks him to. Or deliberately provokes him into it, though that might just be the same as _asking_ , only with less words.

This time, he won’t. This time, he’s going to let Corbin do however he pleases.

Del has felt bad about sleeping with Corbin ever since he decided to sell them both out to the FBI instead of staying true to his employer. He’d had a phase like that after he’d realized he’d fallen in love with his mark; and it has popped up every now and then over the course of their relationship, but never as bad as it is now.

If Corbin _knew_ , he wouldn’t want sex, and Del knows it … but he still lets it happen, just because he doesn’t want to give up the relationship and because he needs to give off a sense of normality. And, being entirely honest, because he loves it. It feels selfish and cruel, almost like abuse.

Still, a part of him selfishly wishes to make this last time together special, taking all pleasure he can get from it, just in case this really is his last chance. Another part of him wishes for an actual punishment, for Corbin to _really_ hurt him.

Both is not going to happen though, and he is not going to speak up, either.

Instead, he melts into Corbin when he’s kissed, one arm around his waist, the other lightly touching Corbin’s chest, just above the heart. Corbin’s grip on him is firm and assured, as it always is, both arms tightly wrapped around Del and it’s oh-so-easy to relax into it.

Corbin starts steering him backwards without releasing him and Del follows leniently, fully trusting Corbin to lead him safely. Corbin is smiling against his lips, and Del can taste lingering hints of wine and white chocolate when he deepens the kiss. It’s not a taste he usually associates Corbin with, but it’s nice anyway; and he leans further into it.

With a gently nip at Del’s lower lip, Corbin pulls away just long enough to drag Del’s shirt up. Del obediently raises his arms to let the shirt slide away, and just a second later Corbin is on him again, smooth hands wandering freely over the now exposed skin. Del retaliates by sliding his own hand under Corbin’s shirt, settling on the midst of Corbin’s broad back, the second wandering up to Corbin’s jaw, barely touching, just feeling the hard lines.

They stay like that for a long minute, kissing slowly, enjoying each other with the familiarity of longtime lovers. It’s still a new feeling for Del, and it still makes him shudder in all the right ways.

Finally, Corbin starts up moving them again, gently pressing Del down on the bed. Del smiles up at Corbin, burying his face against his hipbone for a moment before nipping it playfully. Corbin responds with something that’s a mix of a laugh and a growl, and Del grins wider, holding Corbin’s gaze the entire time as he pushes himself further to stretch out on his back, slightly spreading his legs in invitation.

Corbin follows immediately, climbing over him and settling his weight down on top of him. With a small, content sigh, Del opens his thighs further and lifts his knees slightly to better align their bodies, giving a small moan when he feels Corbin’s cock pressing against his own. Grinning, Corbin moves his hips again and Del moans, arching his back in pleasure.

Corbin leans over him, latching onto the newly exposed skin of Del’s skin, lips and tongue pressing right against Del’s pulse. Del reaches up, tangling his fingers in the hair at Corbin’s neck lightly enough that they slide away easily when Corbin suddenly sits up to shed his shirt.

Del bites his lips as he watches, admiring Corbin’s muscles moving as he pulls the light fabric over his head and tosses it away, leaving his dark hair tousled in an especially debauched way. He wants nothing more than to touch, but before he can, Corbin pushes away to the foot-end, hooking his fingers into Del’s waistband.

Del lifts his hips to help when his pants and shorts are pulled off in one go, then he stretches rapturously as Corbin’s hands and mouth land on him again, wandering upwards his body, exploring territory he is probably as familiar with as Del himself. Still, Corbin takes his time feeling and tasting; nipping at the inside of Del’s thigh, then at his hipbone before licking and biting his way up Del’s stomach; all while his hands pet firmly, his leg, his hips, his waist, everywhere they can get a hold on.

Sighing contently, Del leans into Corbin’s ministrations, his hands gently settling on Corbin’s shoulders and sliding down his upper arms and flanks as he comes higher; enjoying the feel of warm skin and hard muscle underneath his fingers.

And there are plenty of those. Corbin is _definitely_ fit, he does his fair share of sport and he is trained in a martial art or two, but he still is an arts dealer, more or less. People would describe him as steeled when seeing his body, but his well-formed shape mostly stems from fitness training. The men Del has slept with mostly had made their living as mercenaries; either as information diggers like him, as thieves, or as real killers. Powerful men, whose bodies were steeled by hard, physical work and fighting for their lives. The feeling is different, not much, but it is there.

He does like Corbin’s shape better. Maybe it’s just because he’s in love, but he feels that Corbin is more aesthetic, less harsh; his skin softer and scarcely blemished by scars or burns.

Exploring that unblemished skin, his hand might be shaking just a little as he lets his right run back up Corbin’s back, fingers stroking along his spine before splaying over his shoulder blade, the other arm wrapping around Corbin’s waist, trying to touch as much skin as possible.

Smiling, Corbin leans down to kiss him languidly, supporting himself with one arm as the other sneaks under Del’s neck to keep his head tipped back as he coaxes Del’s mouth open with lips and tongue. Del moans quietly into the kiss, easily losing himself to Corbin’s slow, gentle exploration.

Corbin lowers himself further, stretching out over Del and lets his free hand roam, sliding down to his hip and back up, lingering on the scar at Del’s lower ribcage. It comes from a hit with a piece of splintered wood that had left Del’s rib broken and the skin above it split; and since he didn’t have any money to see a doctor back then, both had healed badly, leaving him with a tangible hitch in the bone and a noticeable scar. For some reason, Corbin has taken to splaying his hand over it protectively every time they get intimate in any way.

Del doesn’t know why he loves that, but he does. Still, it’s a reminder of how much he lied, so tonight, he’s almost glad when Corbin shifts his hand again, feeling his way up to Del’s chest.

Corbin obviously hasn’t noticed Del’s inner struggle yet. His completely focused on the kiss that grows firmer and wetter, and Del groans in response, rolling his hips upward. His cockhead rubs up against the waistband of Corbin’s sweatpants and Del moans again, the sound swallowed by Corbin’s mouth.

Corbin bites down lightly against Del’s lower lip, rubbing their groins together again, hitching Del a little closer with the arm behind his neck and Del whimpers against Corbin’s mouth. His fingers clench, blunt nails scratching over Corbin’s shoulder as he arches his back to respond to the rubbing. The slide of fabric against his cock is absolutely not enough, he wants to feel skin, and his hand slides down, ineffectually pushing at Corbin’s waistband in a silent plea.

Chuckling breathlessly, Corbin pushes forward, presses Del down into the mattress and kisses him forcefully, thoroughly plundering his mouth, easily taking his breath. Then, finally, he sits up again. Del’s fingers drag down his body as he pulls away, standing up just long enough to get rid of his remaining clothes and snatch the lube off the corner of the bed, then he’s back between Del’s legs, pushing his thighs further apart.

Del watches him, eyes hungrily wandering over the hard lines of his body to his hard length, bobbing almost obscenely and oh-so-inviting. The thought that he would have liked to taste it one more time, flashes through his mind, but it’s too late for that. Corbin pulls his leg up and slides a wet finger into him, expertly twisting to rub up against Del’s prostate, and Del’s head falls back on its own accord as pleasure spikes up his spine.

Corbin hitches his leg higher still, raising Del’s hips in the process as he starts to shuttle his finger in and out of him a few times before slowly adding a second finger, pressing it inside torturously slow. Nearly whimpering, Del raises his hips higher, shifting to get them deeper, but Corbin has none of it, muttering “Easy, honey,” while holding him still easily to take his sweet time preparing him. Growing almost frustrated, Del claws his fingers into the bedding, the other hand reaching to help pull his on leg aside to splay them further.

Laughing quietly, Corbin suddenly pushes both fingers forward and fully inside him, tearing a surprised cry from Del’s mouth. “Want me that badly?”

“Yes,” Del breathes, closing his eyes and nodding for emphasis. “Please. I _need_ you.”

Corbin hums quietly and pulls his hand back lightly, finding Del’s prostate again, moving his fingertips against it with carefully measured pressure, just enough to drive him crazy. Del arches his back, his mouth falling open and his eyes shut as helpless, debauched noises and half-formed pleas fall from his lips. It’s almost too much; and he feels his hips moving, uncertain if he wants to pull away or press closer. His dick has no such problems. Del is so hard it nearly hurts, leaking onto his stomach.

“Look at me,” Corbin murmurs, and Del needs all his willpower to drag his eyes open. Corbin’s eyes are fixed on his face, his pupils blown so wide his eyes are near black, his lips parted just a little. Del’s breath catches in his throat at the sight.

Mouth curling into a nearly smug smirk, Corbin leans forward slowly, never breaking eye contact until their lips meet in a small, chaste peck. Del moans and tries to follow him to get a deeper kiss; and Corbin chuckles deeply. “So far gone,” he muses, pecking Del again before he can reply.

Del is not gone as far as he would have liked, but he trusts Corbin to rectify that soon. Hoping to speed things along, he makes a sound that’s very close to a whine and whispers Corbin’s name, his hands running freely over his husband’s broad back, his hips bucking mindlessly against the prodding fingers. He’s almost there, almost at the point where he can lose himself to the pleasure, to Corbin, to the feeling of being close to somebody he loves.

“Be glad I already packed away what toys we had here,” Corbin growls, grabbing Del more firmly as he twists and scissors his fingers buried deep inside him. “On that cruise…”

But Del doesn’t want to think about that right now. “Don’t tell me,” he gasps, reaching to hook his fingers around Corbin’s neck and pull him down into another kiss. He really doesn’t want to know what Corbin has planned, it’s not going to happen anyway and it would be stuck in his head forever. “Don’t tell me, please.”

Corbin kisses him then, open and wet and smirking; probably having interpreted this as “Surprise me.” It hurts, and Del squeezes his eyes shut, clawing into Corbin’s back, as he kisses back desperately for what feels like a small eternity. He doesn’t even let Corbin go fully as he finally pulls his fingers from Del’s body, quickly spreading the remaining lube over his own cock before guiding it into Del’s slicked up, waiting body.

Del helps along as good as he can, pulling his leg up to ease the way. Despite the thorough preparation, there is a small spark of pain as Corbin’s cock stretches him further then his fingers could; and it feels great. Del raises his hips towards him, allowing him to slide in in one, fluent motion.

Corbin groans as he slides inside him as deeply as he possibly can, and Del gives him an answering, content sigh, wrapping his legs around Corbin’s thighs, more for contact than for leverage. Corbin doesn’t move immediately, though. Instead, he shoves one hand under Del’s head to keep him still as he kisses him deeply once more, exploring Del’s mouth thoroughly. Moaning, Del tries to respond in kind, to move in any way, but the angle makes it impossible; Corbin’s tongue is too dominating in his mouth, his body and hands pinning Del’s in a way that makes it impossible for him to do anything but to hold still and relish in the feeling of being held down with his lover’s cock buried deep inside him.

In lack of any other possibility, he clenches his inner muscles around it, and Corbin growls, pressing his tongue deeper and pushing his hips forward sharply, rocking Del’s entire body. Del moans, tightening his grip on the curls at Corbin’s neck sharply as the motion rubs his cock against Corbin’s stomach. His head tips back as his back arches upward, lips slick with saliva sliding against Corbin’s equally wet mouth, catching on his teeth for just a moment to elicit another sharp gasp.

Corbin growls again and releases Del’s leg, shoving his hand under his back instead, hand splaying over his shoulder blade to press Del against him; his second hand clawing into the hair at the base of his skull, dragging until Del’s throat lays exposed. Corbin doesn’t hesitate to take full advantage, licking the sweat off the tender skin there and gently sucking at the spot behind his ear as he finally, _finally_ , starts to move. The angle and their close proximity only allow for small movement, and not for deep or hard strokes; it’s just a gentle roll of his hips, pulling out not even halfway before pushing back in.

Del moans in relief and pleasure, moving in time with Corbin as good as possible. It barely is, the way Corbin is holding him: Corbin’s whole weight is resting on top of him now, pressing him into the mattress, hipbones digging into his thighs, both arms wrapped around him tightly to keep his back arched and his throat bared, and when his mouth seals Del’s once more, even breathing suddenly seems impossible. He’s basically helpless under his husband, feeling overpowered and owned.

It’s absolutely amazing.

He can’t even describe how good it is, how incredible it always makes him feel when Corbin’s attention is focused on nothing but _him_ while his own world narrows down to the man above him.

Broken pants and moans spilling form his lips, Del finally finds it in himself to move his legs, pulling his leg higher and hooking his ankles at the small of Corbin’s back to change the angle of entry, allowing Corbin to slide in deeper and with less resistance. Corbin gasps against his mouth and pulls away, hiding his face under Del’s jaw instead, biting and licking everywhere he can reach.

Laying like this, the hard muscles on his stomach rub against Del’s cock with every stroke. First it’s a little rough, but soon, his skin is slick with sweat and pre-come, and Del whines again, desperate for more friction, anything that would satisfy the burning _need_ , but Corbin obviously has other plans. He holds Del just like that, relentlessly moving in and out of him in a slow and steady rhythm, until the muscles in Del’s thighs flutter and his nails, blunt as they may be, leave angry red marks on his back, until he’s trying to plead but can’t string a coherent sentence together.

Only then, Corbin releases his hair to curl his arm around Del’s waist as he speeds up his moves to sharp, quick thrusts that rock Del’s body harshly. Del cries out, his hands scrabbling for something to hold on before he settles for wrapping both his arms tightly around Corbin’s neck. Above him, Corbin shifts again, reaching for the back of Del’s knee to shove his leg up and change the angle of his entry, slamming in deeper and harder than before.

He manages about a dozen thrusts before Del comes, crying out against the side of Corbin’s neck, with the scent of Corbin’s aftershave and sweat filling his nose, the sound of skin slapping on skin and deep moans filling his ears and feeling only Corbin wrapping him up and filling him; spilling come all over both their stomachs.

Corbin moans in approval as Del’s muscles contract around him, only slightly faltering in his rhythm before renewing his efforts. Del presses his open mouth against the juncture of Corbin’s throat and shoulder, tasting the salty, musky tang of sweat. He keeps it there until Corbin’s thrust stutter, coming deep within him. He doesn’t notice he’s whispering “I love you” over and over again, and neither does he realize Corbin says it back when he stills.

They both don’t speak anymore when Corbin just lets himself collapse on top of Del, wrapping him up once more. This was a pretty tame sessions, but Del still feels too fucked out to move, all he does is lower his legs and relax, allowing himself to enjoy how perfectly their bodies seem to align. Only after a few minutes of laying there wrapped around each other, Corbin finally raises a little. “Everything okay?”

Del doesn’t answer, he simply turns his head, blindly searching for Corbin’s mouth, and Corbin is happy to oblige, though what’s probably meant to be slow and sensual, turns out somewhat wet and sloppy. Del doesn’t mind. He also doesn’t mind drawing it out, wanting to lie here cuddled up with Corbin still filling him as long as possible. They don’t have much time, so he wants them to take all the time in the world.

He can feels the come pooling between his legs and on his stomach beginning to turn sticky and the sweat and saliva on his body is nearly dried up when Corbin finally moves. Pulling out causes them both to groan, and Del feels a shiver going up his spine when he hears footsteps moving towards the bathroom. Game over.

Their last time before prison ends with Corbin murmuring sweet nothings while gently cleaning both of them and provisionally wiping off some sweat while Del reaches for a tissue to wipe his mouth; unwilling to stand up and shower. He kind of likes this, lying in this bed, freshly fucked and smelling like it. Corbin doesn’t mind, he knows, so when he finally does stand up, all he does is brush his teeth before going to help Corbin put new sheets on the bed.

 

 

Sometime later, they’re lying cuddled up under a fresh blanket. Corbin is already asleep, and Del knows he should sleep too, but he can’t help it: He throws a glance over Corbin’s shoulder, to the alarm clock. Midnight.

_No nine hours left. And who knows how long until Corbin finds out I lied to him?_

Shivering Del burrows closer to his husband, squeezing his eyes shut. Please, let him wake up sick tomorrow, he prays quietly. An allergic reaction, a fever, anything strong enough to keep him down for the next three days.

It feels weird, wishing somebody he loved to become sick. Also, deep inside Del knows it’s useless anyway. Even if, by some miracle, Corbin does wind up sick tomorrow, Armen is not going to vanish into thin air. He’ll try again. Inevitably, his lies are going to come to light sooner or later.

But Del also knows that he has no family, no real friends, no actual life, just a few people he half-trusts and a row of changing identities. Corbin is the first constant he had for years. No, it’s more than that. Corbin literally is all he has.

Del opens his eyes again and looks at Corbin. The room is dark, but he knows his face by heart. _He’s all I have_ , he thinks again, shocked at how much truth is in those words. _And I can’t lose him. I can’t. I love him. I love you, I love you so much, and I can’t lose you, so please, be sick tomorrow, yes? You can do me that little favour, can’t you?_

Of course, there is no answer; and Del keeps staring into the semi-dark for a long time before he finally sinks into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Their arrest is one and a half hours away, Corbin has, of course, not miraculously become sick, and Del is alone in the shower, washing off the reminders of last night.

Usually, he likes to smell sex on himself, but today, it physically makes Del sick. Or rather, it makes him disgusted with himself. How could he have done this? How could he have let Corbin shag him, knowing what would happen the very next day? When Corbin finds out, he’ll know how Del selfishly enjoyed this night while knowing all he was, even his name, is a lie; he’s going to hate him for that, and he’ll be right to. What Del does; in some states, can be called rape.

Shuddering, Del squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop his raging thoughts. It won’t do him any good. What is done is done. He has to hold up his façade, for one more day at least, longer if necessary.

Del raises his face into the spray, using both hands to slosh the remaining conditioner out of his bleached hair and then stays like that; letting the water drown out his senses for a while. It’s almost a pity he has to turn away for breath after a while.

When he does, Del moves quickly, trying to find the same determination he had when he started this assignment. He turns off the water and half-blindly reaches for a towel, blinking through the water in his eyes.

He falls into his routine fairly easily, drying himself off and rubbing an expensive body lotion into his smooth skin. It’s the last time he’ll be doing that and it feels weird, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he turns to his hair; blow-drying and carefully styling it to its spiky style. Even if it isn’t actually necessary, he has to look his best when they drive to The Club.

The “club” is not actually a single place, it’s just the inconspicuous word Corbin uses to refer to the several meeting points for rich men and rich women making money with illegal means, consisting mostly of smugglers and dealers. Del knows those hotspots from before, though his circles had mostly been mercenaries like himself. A few arms dealers, on occasion.

Corbin’s clubs are less life-threatening. Here, you find the right contacts to get you some piece of art, people who would ask you to find something for them , buyers and sellers for stuff you already had. And, of course, you could brag with your success.

There have to be hundreds of those ‘clubs’ all across the country and probably a dozen in Baltimore alone, but Corbin frequents only one of those. He also always takes the same way there, and instead of driving around the block, he always preforms an illegal U-Turn. Now that it’s going to be his downfall, Del isn’t sure if this predictability is good or bad for them.

It took him time and skill to orchestrate this without revealing who he is to any of the involved parties, but he has managed it: Corbin thinks somebody is interested in one of the pieces Bianchi will get them, and wants to meet him today, so, they’ll drive to the club at a specific time. Corbin is going to preform that illegal turn, the police, maybe even FBI-Agents, will see the illegal maneuver, providing an excuse to arrest them.

They probably also know about Vartan Armen, Del muses as he puts down his toothbrush, having finished the last task of his beauty routine. It’s a disgrace for a mercenary to betray their employer, but Del never hesitated. It’s his freedom against Corbin’s life. Armen doesn’t mean anything to him. Corbin means _everything_.

And he’d do absolutely everything for him. Even if it means being imprisoned, maybe for a very long time if the investigators ever tie him to some of the things he did under other names.

Slowly, Del shakes his head and unwraps the towel slung around his waist, hangs it up so it can dry relatively fast before he leaves the bathroom, wandering fully naked to the wardrobe in the bedroom.

The first step, namely: underwear, is easy, but then, he hesitates, staring at the heaps of fabric cluelessly.

It’s difficult today, getting dressed. He knows what he is expected to look like, yet he isn’t sure what people are going to arrest them, and he does not want to provoke them too extensively. He also will spent a lot of time wearing them, so they should be comfortable.

Actually, fuck point one. Fuck what the police might think. If they get rough, it might be used in his and Corbin’s favor. Important is to give off the sense of normality.

Despite December’s chill, Del finally chooses to wear a revealing vest that wonderfully accentuates his near perfect build and opens with a simple flick of his wrist. The wide expanse of smooth, tanned skin he shows, especially the parts where it’s marred with bruises in varying states, will hopefully compensate that he’s wearing jeans that are thicker and ride much higher on his hips than usually, jeans that will be comfortable to sleep with in an interrogation room, or a holding cell.

Shutting the wardrobe’s door, Del carefully inspects himself in the full-length mirror. He looks every inch the mask, the well-tended, well-styled pet people expect at Corbin’s side. Del Porter isn’t that, and the real men even less, but they expect to see a spoiled, slavish toy; and that’s what he delivers.

Corbin has never expected him to be slavish, but he certainly likes seeing Del dressed up as his toy; and even a blind man could see it by the way his eyes darken and his lips curl when he sees Del like this.

He reaches out to touch the second Del comes into reach, stroking over his cheek. “You look beautiful, honey.”

Del smiles, letting his fingers run over Corbin’s chest; liking the way his solid form feels under the pricey fabric of his high-collared shirt. “Well, good. I have to match you, don’t I?”

Chuckling, Corbin kisses him gently, then he nods to the door. “Come on then, beautiful. Let’s get this over with.”

Del doesn’t want to. He wants to drag Corbin back upstairs and come clean; or at least, warn him not to go. He reaches for a jacket instead, throwing it around his shoulders rather than putting it on and steps out if the flat.

Corbin keeps his arm around Del’s shoulders the entire way to the car, and very step feels harder than the last, like he’s wading through water. Yet, they are at the car faster than ever before, so quick that Del wonders if he lost some time on the way.

Releasing him, Corbin opens the passenger door for him and Del feels his chest constricting. He stops in front of him and slowly lets his hands slide up Corbin’s arms, feeling the familiar muscles under the soft fabric, tipping his head and kissing him lightly before drawing back just enough to look into Corbin’s eyes.

Corbin looks confused, but he’s smiling, and that hurts. “What brought this on?”

 _The years with you were the best time in my life. I’ll never be so happy again. I’m going to miss you so much. I’m so sorry._ None of those things he can say. “I just thought…I’m so lucky to have found you.” He raises his hand and lightly strokes Corbin’s cheek. “Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

It is almost too much, but Del is prone to spout love declarations spontaneously anyway. He always portrayed Corbin as the most wonderful and beautiful thing in his life. Corbin has quite an ego, and stroking it was big part of how he reeled the man in. He just can’t clearly remember when he stopped doing it for flattery and started meaning every word.

Corbin just smiles wider and kisses Del again, a little firmer, gathering him tightly in his arms. Del reaches to tangle the fingers of his right into the hair at the back of Corbin’s neck as he goes pliant under his husband’s touch.

It’s Corbin who breaks the kiss, even if it’s just so he can whisper against Del’s mouth. “You know, you stole my text.” He grins, shifting and tightening his grip so that Del is a little off-balance. In Corbin’s hands, just how he loves to have him. “I’m so lucky to have you. I love you.”

 _No, don’t say that. Not now. Not when I’m about to get you arrested._ Del almost speaks, but before he can, Corbin seals his mouth with another kiss. It takes Del every ounce of willpower he can muster to stay relaxed and calm. He even manages to smile when Corbin finally pulls back, trying to look joyous and carefree.

Apparently, he is not convincing enough. Corbin frowns at him, touching his cheek with the back of his fingers. “Are you all right?”

Del swallows and nods. “Of course, I’m fine.” His voice is just a bit brittle, though, and his smile feels so forced that his face is hurting.

Corbin’s frown merely deepens. “You don’t look fine. You look like something’s bothering you.” His fingers move under Del’s chin, tipping his head back. “Tell me, honey. What’s wrong?”

He knows Del too well. After all that time, it is to be expected, but it’s still worrisome. He has given up his mask and let it become truly personal, allowing his mark to see the real man. Or maybe, he has become the mask, sacrificing the tough, but lonely merc for Del Porter, spoiled and loved trophy husband. Not that it truly matters right now. He is screwed either way.

“It’s nothing important” he lies, assuming the slightly piteous undertone of a person knowing they’ll be coddled immediately when admitting to even the smallest discomfort and pretending they don’t want it. “I just didn’t sleep well. And my head hurts a little. Maybe it’s the weather.”

True to form, Corbin starts smiling again, tightening his grip to pull Del in closer, fingers treading into his bleached hair and gently massaging his scalp. “Well, then let us get over with this fast. And when we get back here, you change into something more comfortable and then we get you back in bed. You get comfortable with a coffee and some ibuprofen and then you’ll do nothing but relax and let me take care of you. Can’t have you sick tomorrow now, after all.”

“Course not,” Del murmurs obediently, tipping his head back into Corbin’s hand that still spreads at the back of his head. It sounds so enticing. Like it’s everything he ever wished for … but he needs to give it up now.

“Good.” Corbin leans forward smiling and kisses Del once more, a chaste, gentle peck that is over far too soon. Their last kiss. The realization is nearly staggering.

“And maybe you should get out of the cold,” Corbin says as if he just realized that now, pulling away to gently direct Del closer to the car. He’s right, now that his body warmth isn’t so close anymore, Del starts to feel the cold seeping through his thin shirt. It’s a little price to pay for some more time, but he gets in anyway, smiling weakly when Corbin closes the door.

His hands shake so badly he can barely buckle his seatbelt, and Corbin frowns at him before firing up the heating as high as possible. Del tries for a smile again. “Thanks.”

Corbin wordlessly squeezes his hand, but his smile says more, all that Del longs and fears to hear. It hurts, and he feels like a monster.

His hand still prickles when Corbin starts the car and veers out of the parking space easily, unknowingly heading directly towards the trap Del has set for him. Traffic is much more sparse than Del is used to too, or maybe, it’s just his imagination. He can’t be sure anymore. All he knows is that he wants to be entirely alone on the streets so that nobody will witness Corbin being arrested, and yet, he wants a fucking traffic jam stretching into both directions, so Corbin has to go the long way.

This stupid illegal turn. Del has asked Corbin a hundred times not to do it, to be more careful, not to draw attention to them, especially not after the FBI had finally started to catch up with them and their business. Corbin never listened, though.

They are approaching the point of no return, and Del has to fight to keep himself from shifting, balling his hands in his lap. He can’t see a police car anywhere, but then he supposes that’s how it should be. He momentarily considers telling Corbin he’s seen one, anyway, just so he’ll behave, but it’s too late.

As per usual, Corbin severs suddenly, preforming a narrow U-turn. Del looks at him and finds Corbin looking back from the corners of his eyes. There’s a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are sparkling. He knows how much Del hates this, and he’s waiting for a response, probably an exasperated scolding, as Del is prone to react that way.

 _He did it to tease me._ They were going to end up in prison because his husband had wanted to tease him. How is he supposed to live with that?

Corbin is still smiling and glancing at him and Del wants to say something, but his mouth is too dry, his throat seems to be closing up and he can’t think of anything fitting. He opens his mouth, anyway, but before he can make a sound, a siren wails behind them, and the flashing lights of the car rolling out of its hiding place dance over Corbin’s hair and face.

A black car, stereotypical SUV. The FBI is taking no risks.

The mirth immediately drains out of Corbin’s handsome face. His eyes harden, and his mouth presses into a tight line. The expression could easily be mistaken for fury, but Del knows it’s worry, too. Corbin angers easily when something is out of his control, or is not going the way he wants it to. That is part of the reason why they are in this mess right now. But he’s not stupid, either. He knows how bad this might become.

Still, his hands are calm when he pulls over and reaches out to take Del’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “Stay calm, honey. They’ll probably just write me a ticket.”

Together, they watch in the car’s rearview and sideview mirrors how two men get out of the SUV, both big, fit and in civil clothing, apart from their sidearms. Del is a little surprised that there are only two of them. He can only guess that they want to make it look like a coincidental arrest to protect their informant. Little do they know he’s sitting in the passenger seat.

Corbin’s hand tightens a little, as do his eyes when he recognizes that those are not just cops, but Feds; the men responsible for arresting smugglers like him.

“Well, I guess you warned me,” he says quietly, and Del wishes he could cry.

Instead he sits quietly and tries to look intimidated instead of sick and guilty while the men who stopped them step up to the car. Corbin lets go of Del’ hand and rolls down the window, as the agent on his side, a tall, broad-shouldered man with brown hair, beckons. “Get out of the car, please.”

Corbin tries for a smile, but Del can see that he knows he stepped in it this time. “Listen, I know that was against regulation. I was in a hurry to get to an appointment, so I made a mistake. Can’t you just write me a ticket and I’ll pay the fee as soon as I get home?”

The agent shakes his head; and they argue back and forth for a moment before Corbin caves in and gets out. Though the window, he can hear them talking for moments that seem to stretch endlessly, then the agent turns Corbin and pushes him against the car, nodding at his partner.

The passenger door opens, and Del makes a show of it, throwing a glance at Corbin while he slowly opens his seatbelt. Corbin hangs his head to look back at him, obviously tense, but his voice is controlled. “Stay calm,” he repeats quietly. “Just do as they say.”

Del nods and turns away, his motions hesitant and uncertain as he climbs out. His jacket slides from his shoulders, but he ignores it. “His” agent, a barrel-chested black man, takes hold of his arm immediately, pulling him aside as he shuts the door. Del doesn’t resist, and he also puts up no fight when he’s made to stand against the car with his hands pressed to the roof and his legs spread to be searched.

In front of him, the other agent is already finished with searching. Corbin is standing upright again, his hands cuffed behind his back. The sight is so _wrong_ that Del can barely fathom it … or that he is responsible for it.

Corbin looks angry, but when he looks Del straight into the eye, he can see the worry in them. “Don’t be afraid,” he says so silently he’s almost mouthing it. “It’ll be all right.”

 _No, no it won’t be_. Swallowing thickly, Del lowers his head, staring at his clenched hands, and the ring shimmering there.

Behind him, the agent straightens back up, and again, Del doesn’t resist in the slightest when his arm is twisted behind his back. As everything the agent has done so far, his grip is hard, but not painfully so; and Del could swear that there is a tiny moment of hesitation in his moves when he notices the bruises marring Del’s skin. That surprises him yet again, and that makes him realize that he had expected to be insulted and manhandled brutally. Well, maybe his time on the streets has made him a little too mistrusting against lawmen of any kind.

Anyway, if brutal or not, just a moment later the metal cuff clicks shut with a terribly final sound and the man reaches for his second hand, forcing Del to lean bodily against the car. Del really wishes he wouldn’t. The car is so cold that his skin numbs where he’s pressed up against it and he’s starting to shiver.

“Got him?” the agent holding Corbin asks.

His agents doesn’t respond verbally, only hums a low positive as he snaps the second cuff shut; but his partner isn’t deterred. “Is he armed? Because _he_ was.”

“I have a permit to carry,” Corbin says, admirably calm. “And I unloaded it before I started the car.” Both agents pay him no heed.

“No, he’s clean,” Del’s agent drawls, then he leans over Del suddenly, peering at the jacket draped over the passenger seat. “Well, if there isn’t a gun in there, that is. Is there?”

“I’m not armed,” Del quietly responds. It’s the truth, he did leave his weapons behind in New York.

“Really,” Corbin’s agent says, sounding like he’s not surprised at all¸ and Del’s man finally pulls him away from the car. It doesn’t really help, the air isn’t any warmer and Del is really starting to shake. “Do you mind if we check anyway?”

“Yes,” Corbin immediately snaps. Forbidding them from searching his car won’t do him much good, but Del can understand it. Or would, if the cold wasn’t very quickly becoming his priority #1.

The agent looks at his partner, frowning. “Think we got enough to search the car anyway?”

Despite himself, Del wishes they would stop talking and get on with it, and not just because he’s feeling like he’s standing inside a giant freezer, but also because it … doesn’t feel good to stand here like this. Some cars come past, slowing down so the drivers can stare at them, gawking shamelessly. Del is starting to feel exposed, on display like an animal at a zoo. It’s humiliating, really. The fact that Corbin is involved only makes it worse.

“Nah, let’s wait for a warrant. Better be safe.”

Corbin’s agent shrugs and sighs. “Fine. I’ll call someone to tow the car downtown.”

“So, you’re waiting here for them? Good, then I guess I better bring this one in before he freezes,” Del’s agent says, and no second too early. Del is shaking uncontrollably by now, consciously locking his jaw so his teeth won’t chatter. He stumbles a little when he’s turned, and the agent’s hand tightens around his arm, steadying him. “Easy, there.”

Del doesn’t speak. He throws a small glance over his shoulder, but he only catches a spilt glance on Corbin’s face before he is turned away as well to be led towards a second SUV, one that has been parked at the curb, hidden in plain sight, then he lowers his eyes and goes quietly.

He mutters “yes” when the agent asks him if he understood his rights and ducks his head as he is unceremoniously deposited on the backseat, discreetly tests his limits when his hands are out of sight and decides he won’t be slipping them unless he breaks every bone in his hands. Not that he had expected anything else.

Wearing handcuffs is nothing new for Del, and neither is being arrested, but he feels so nervous as if … well, as if he actually was Del Porter. He does nothing to hide it. Spoiled Toys are not used to being arrested.

His nerves have other reasons, though. Now, being alone with the agent, unbidden thoughts surface, things he should have thought of, but either pushed away or ignored over his mental struggle with betraying somebody beloved. Like what is going to happen to them him now – prison isn’t easy, but for a gay man …

White-collar crimes probably won’t get them into a maximum security prison, so Corbin should be at least halfway safe, something Del has told himself a hundred times before. Spruced up as he is, Del is a whole different matter. If he ends up being convicted for some more serious crimes looking like this, his chances on survival are low at best.

When they roll past, Del can see the agent is leaning against his car, talking to somebody on his cellphone, Corbin already sitting in the backseat. Del can’t make out his face, but he can imagine it: A mask of put-on cool, barely masking anger, and underneath, dread of what’s to come. Probably the same dread he is feeling.

Maybe, he made a mistake. He should have taken the fight to Armen instead. He could have killed him, poisoned him, thrown him over the railing, anything. Anything but delivering them both to the mercy of the FBI, the judges, and other prisoners.

 _Well, too late now_. Del had had those doubts, argued with himself a hundred times, but finally decided going on the cruise was too dangerous. Now, he has to live with it. His future isn’t in his hands anymore.

Chewing in his lip nervously, Del hangs his head and shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Then, he raises his head and looks out of the window in complete silence, watching houses go by as the car takes him down to the station where his nice, cozy life as Del Porter will inevitably come to a sharp halt. He hopes there will be a life left for him to return to after prison, but that also is not in his hands.

Closing his eyes again, Del bites his lip a little firmer and wonders how it could have come to this. There is only one answer.

_Fucking love._


End file.
